


bend it, break it

by lovetincture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bedsharing, First Time, M/M, the aesthetic of endless motels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture
Summary: It starts in a hotel room. It always starts in a hotel room.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	bend it, break it

**Author's Note:**

> I'm such a menace with the ficlets lately, I know, but I found this in my drafts while looking for something else, and I decided that I like it.

It starts in a hotel room.

It always starts in a hotel room, but—it starts in a hotel room. It hardly matters what it looks like, but this one has white walls, two lamps, striped comforters in eye-searing colors. This one has his brother in the middle of the room, breathing harder than he should be and doing a shit job of hiding how badly his ribs hurt.

“They’re broken, aren’t they?”

“I’m fine,” Dean says. It isn’t a no.

“You could’ve let me carry the bags inside.”

“You could stop nagging for five seconds.”

Sam bites his lip to stop the next words that want to escape, but he narrows his eyes. “Let me take a look at your shoulder.”

Dean waves him off (with his left hand, not his right). “I need to sleep for about a billion years, but I’m fine.”

Sam’s still looking at him.

“Seriously, Sam, I’m fine.”

There’s an argument to be had here. There’s an argument, but god, it’s just not worth it. His ears are still ringing from the header he took when the ghost flung him into the wall. One of his teeth feels loose, and he keeps sucking blood away from its weeping socket. It’s gross, and he’s tired.

He flops down on the nearest bed, which happens to be the one by the door. He could fall asleep just like this, he figures—shoes still on, legs hanging off the bed with his feet on the ground. He’s nearly there when he feels a sharp smack on the side of his knee.

“Move it, Sasquatch.”

He grunts and doesn’t move an inch.

Dean shakes Sam’s leg, more insistent. “Take the other bed,” he says, irritated.

Sam jerks his leg out of reach. “I’m too tired for your compulsive protector thing, dude. _You_ take the other bed.”

Dean huffs. Sam expects a fight. He expects to be dumped straight onto the floor. He does not expect a heavy weight settling down next to him, making the hideously uncomfortable box spring dip until Sam slides toward Dean—Dean who is, in fact, still the one closer to the door.

Sam cracks open an eye. “Seriously?”

“Other bed’s wide open.”

Sam grunts in annoyance. A latent little brother impulse flares up. Now it’s a point of principle. “Nope, I’m good.”

“Whatever.”

He hears the sounds of Dean puttering around the room. The toilet flushes. The bathroom sink turns on and off. He must drift off because the next thing he’s aware of is the covers shifting beneath him, the room black save for the light thrown off the digital alarm clock.

He should shower, but he’s too damn tired. He sits up and ignores the head rush, toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, which are promptly balled up and tossed in the approximate direction of his duffel.

This goes beyond the bounds of stubbornness, probably, but he peels open the other side of the bed and slides in next to Dean. The full bed is big enough for them both, but not big enough to let them avoid touching each other. Dean is in nothing but a t-shirt, like Sam himself, and the brush of his arm feels suddenly, shockingly intimate. All his tiredness flees, and he’s suddenly wide awake.

His breath comes too fast. His toes curl beneath the covers, a nervous tick, and this is too weird all of a sudden. He’s going to take the other bed, like he should’ve done in the first place, but Dean’s voice stops him. Startles him out of his one-track escape route.

“Sammy?”

He swallows, still touching his brother in a too-small bed. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t know what exactly he expects Dean to say. He has that tone of voice he only ever gets when something is serious, so Sam—Sam is tired, but he’s bracing for the worst. He doesn’t expect Dean to roll over gingerly, still cussing a blue streak under his breath. He doesn’t expect the warm, dry press of lips against his own.

For a second—for long, stuttering seconds, Sam doesn’t know what just happened. He knows he’s been kissed, but he’s here with Dean—here in bed with Dean, and the two thoughts can’t connect. It short-circuits something in his brain.

Dean pulls back almost immediately. The kiss ends as soon as it’s started, and Sam’s left touching his mouth with his hands, wondering dumbly what the fuck just happened. He can still feel the warm ghost of Dean’s breath across his upper lip if he tries.

And Dean—Dean’s snoring already, the absolute fucker.

Sam tries calling out to him anyway, saying his name quietly in the dark. There’s no answer. Sam didn’t really think there would be.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lovetincture)


End file.
